What are the earliest memories of the place you lived in as a child? Describe your house. What did it look like? How did it smell? What did it sound like? Was it quiet like a library, or full of the noise of life? Tell us all about it, in as much detail as you can recall.
Our house was built with stone. It was strong and warm and safe.
I remember the windows. They were large and let light in. In summer I could smell the rain. Or the flowers. Even the sheep as they grazed nearby. I liked those windows. It showed me the world.
We had a Dover stove. Mom baked bread, birthday cakes and leg of lamb, filling the house with delicious aromas. The fire was kept going during the cold winter months, and we’d sit there, listening to Dad telling stories by candle light.
Dad’s pride and joy was kept in the shed. It was a Chev, I think. Like the house, I believed it to be indestructible…
I though nothing would ever change.
I had such a lot to learn…
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten forever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long-forgotten snow.
(Sarah Teasdale, 1884 – 1933)